


I Adore You

by Poltergeisha



Category: game of thrones
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6945298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poltergeisha/pseuds/Poltergeisha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not 100% sure where this story is headed yet, but definitely lots and lots of Theon and Sansa!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any rights to Game of Thrones!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing something like this, so any and all feedback is appreciated!

  Sansa had caught him looking at her fairly often of late. He, slightly older, always teasing, cocky and devilishly handsome, and she, innocent and gentle, her head full of songs and stories of brave knights and their ladies. They had grown up together, raised as siblings, but the knowledge that he was not really one of them, that he was the son of a traitor and was only alive because of Lord Stark's mercy, constantly loomed in the background, a dark cloud that had left even his happiest childhood memories always slightly bittersweet. She had seen the looks the serving girls gave him, lusting after him like bitches in heat, and she had rolled her eyes, knowing that behind closed doors he had sampled them all, and she would tell herself that when she married, she would find a noble, chivalrous man who was above such things. Being with someone like Theon was an impossibility for her. But then he had given her that look, and everything had changed...

  Sansa was in the Godswood, sitting at the edge of the pond, pulling her shoes and socks off of her aching feet and tossing them casually in the grass over her shoulder, all the while humming softly. She and Arya had gotten into another argument over breakfast, and when Septa Mordane had stepped in, threatening to drag them both by their ears to their Lady Mother if they could not get along, Arya had stamped on both of Sansa's feet, hard, and run off. Sansa sighed. Arya was so boyish and contrary. Sansa couldn't seem to get along with her no matter what she did. She wiggled her toes, her feet now totally bare, and then hiked her skirts up to the middle of her thighs to avoid them getting wet. She dipped her feet into the cool water of the pond, giving a satisfied groan and leaning back on her hands, closing her eyes and humming again.  
  Theon walked up the path to the Godswood quietly, lost in his own thoughts. He had been training in the yard with Robb and Jon when Maester Luwin had arrived, informing them that Lord Stark needed to speak to his sons. Jon and Robb had left quickly, muttering apologies, and Theon had stomped off, cursing under his breath. He had tried every way he could think of to prove his loyalties to the Starks, but no matter what he did, Lord Stark had never treated him like one of his own. Theon had left his own father at such a young age, he hardly remembered him. Ned Stark was the only father he knew, and every time Theon was reminded that he wasn't truly one of the family it left him a little more bitter, a little more angry. He kept his eyes down-cast as he walked, counting his steps to try and distract himself from any and all thoughts of the damn Starks, and then, quite suddenly, there was a Stark right in front of him. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, and he stood silently for a moment, admiring her shapely calves, the milky white skin of her thighs, the way her red hair hung loose around her face, so vibrant next to her pale skin, and her very visible cleavage, rising and falling in time with each of her breaths. She was striking. How had he never noticed before? He stepped forward, clearing his throat. Her eyes flew open,  
  "Theon!" She gasped, quickly smoothing her skirts down, a blush spreading across her cheeks. Theon couldn't help but imagine her beneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist as he moved inside her, her face flushed that same lovely shade of red. He cleared his throat again, shaking himself mentally, knowing Ned Stark would have his head just for thinking of his daughter that way.  
  "Sansa," he said, cocking his head to the side, "What are you doing out here?" She waited until she had pulled her socks and shoes back on before she turned to face him, her cheeks still tinged pink,  
  "Hiding from the Septa." She said, sounding annoyed, "This is the only place where no one bothers me."  
  "My apologies." Theon said, turning to go. She reached out and grabbed his hand, effectively stopping him from leaving,  
  "No, stay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound cross. Arya and I fought this morning and I'm still a little angry with her, that's all." She said, giving him a reassuring smile. His gaze was locked on their joined hands. They had never touched before, not even an accidental brush of fingertips when handing something to one another. His skin tingled everywhere it touched hers, and he marveled at how that one, small sensation was enough to leave his body screaming for more. She pulled her hand away from his, not unkindly, and took a small step away from him, and he fought the urge to pull her into his arms.   
  "Where are Jon and Robb?" She asked him, "Last I saw, you three were together." She noticed him tense as soon as the words left her lips, and he refused to meet her eyes as he responded,  
  "Your Father needed to speak to his sons. Privately." She gave him a weak smile. Her mother and father seemed oblivious to Theons insecurities, and he had certainly never said anything about it, but she knew. Theon felt like an outsider, like he didn't quite fit in anywhere. He had been living in the North too long to be a true Iron Islander, and he would never be a Stark.  
  "I'm sorry." She said quietly. He shrugged, and when he looked up at her again, all traces of sadness were gone from his face, replaced by his usual playful expression.  
  "Don't be." He replied, "I am Prince of the Iron Islands. Which of your brothers can say they're a Prince?" He winked at her, his tone teasing, and she found herself grinning in response. His hand cupped her cheek, so suddenly she almost jumped, his thumb gently stroking her skin, and she would have sworn that she could feel the heat from his gaze.  
  "Theon..?" She asked quietly, "What are you doing?" His face was suddenly inches from hers,  
  "I...." He stopped, and she silently prayed that he wouldn't pull away. It felt like hours before he finally answered, "I want to kiss you."  
  "You want to kiss me?" She repeated, dumbfounded. As far as she knew, Theon had never even given her a second glance, and she had never considered him as anything more than a dear friend, almost a brother. And yet, his words sent a thrill through her, an unfamiliar ache in her loins as she imagined how his lips might feel against hers. His response was to grin, waiting patiently for her answer.  
  "Yes." She said, her voice barely above a whisper. His lips were on hers instantly, a gentle caress, questioning, and when she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, it was all the answer he needed. His arms encircled her waist, pulling her flush against him. She felt his tongue brush against her bottom lip, and she hesitantly opened to invite him in. She had been kissed before, once or twice by a boy in the village when her curiosity had gotten the best of her, but it had been a meek thing, mouths closed, boring. She had never dreamed a kiss could feel like this. She felt almost dizzy, throbbing and aching in places she hadn't even known existed. It was overwhelming, this raw need coursing through her, too much and yet not enough. Her hands caressed his chest, his back, his arms, his face, wanting to feel anything and everything she could before this moment was over. She could feel herself trembling as their tongues danced, and she was sure that were it not for his strong arms wrapped around her waist, holding her steady, her legs would have collapsed beneath her. She gasped when he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth nibbling at it, and then his mouth left hers and made its way downwards, pressing kisses to her cheek, her ear, along her jaw-line, and finally down her neck. Using his teeth and tongue, he sucked at the hollow between her neck and shoulder, and she curled her fingers in his thick, dark hair, moaning. She could feel him grin against her skin, and he pulled away from her, looking utterly satisfied as he saw the mark he had left on her.  
"Please don't stop..." She breathed, leaning forward to press her lips to his once more, and then they heard a yell,  
"Sansa! Sansa, where are you?" They jumped apart instantly, both of them panting and looking extremely guilty.  
"It's my mother!" She exclaimed, her eyes wide as saucers,  
"Put your cloak on." He instructed her, "It will cover the mark on your neck."  
"What mark-" She began.  
"Just put it on." He interrupted, "Quickly." She bent down to retrieve her fur cloak from the grass, and by the time she had fastened it around her neck, he had gone.  
"I'm coming, Mother!" She yelled, scurrying down the path and back to the castle as fast as her feet would carry her.


	2. Chapter 2

  Sansa slammed her bedroom door shut behind her and leaned back against the heavy wood, her heart racing. What was wrong with her? She had waited so long to feel something that intense, the kind of emotion people wrote songs about, and when it finally happened, it was for him? For Theon Greyjoy? And yet, her knees felt weak just thinking about the way he had kissed her. She couldn't stop herself from grinning as she replayed the whole thing in her mind,  tracing over her bottom lip with her fingers as she remembered how soft his mouth was, how hard and surprisingly muscular his lean body had felt pressed against hers. She sighed, still smiling, and walked over to deposit her heavy cloak on her bed. Then, she walked to the wash basin she kept on her night stand, and when she leaned in to rinse her hands, she gasped. Her reflection stared back at her from the still surface of the water, and her eyes were glued to the dark, nearly purple, circular mark in the hollow of her neck. Theon had said something about it, but she hadn't had time to consider it before her mother was there. Sansa had talked to her very briefly, long enough for her mother to tell her that her father wanted to speak to them all after supper that evening, and then Sansa had claimed she had a headache and needed to lay down. She ran her fingers over the mark on her neck, still staring at it in her reflection. How dare he do this? What if her mother saw? She would know what it was right away! She could only imagine how angry her parents would be! But then she remembered the look on Theons face when he had seen it, his satisfied smirk and the hunger in his eyes, and found she didn't care all that much what they would say. As long as she could remember she had always put propriety and manners first, only concerned with making everyone think she was the perfect lady, but all it had taken was one kiss from Theon to leave her wondering what it would take to get him alone again. She made her way back to the bed, flopping down on her pillows with a wistful sigh. Try as she might, she couldn't stop thinking of his kiss, the delicious taste of his lips, the way his hair felt like silk when she ran her fingers through it. Was he thinking of her too? Had she finally found her knight?

  Theon needed a distraction. Anything to get his mind off of her. He moved through the forest silently, his bow and arrows slung across his back. He loved to hunt. It was the only time his mind was quiet. But today, it wasn't enough. She was all he could think about. There could never be anything between he and Sansa. She was a Stark, her father could marry her off to anyone and any potential husband would be a better man than him, Theon Greyjoy, who had wasted more days than he cared to admit drinking and whoring, and who would forever be seen as the son of a traitor. She was pure, innocent and gentle. He could never be worthy of her. So why had he kissed her? She had been so soft, and so willing...he swore under his breath. He was such a fool. She wanted him, that much he knew was true. He could have had her right there in the Godswood, pressed up against a tree. The thought made him groan aloud. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and closing his eyes. This was madness. He had had more women than he could count, and here he was feeling like a stupid schoolboy. It couldn't happen again, no matter how badly he wanted it to. The feelings her kiss had awoken in him were simply too much, and if her father ever found out, it would end badly for them both. He nodded, confident in his decision. He would go and explain things to her, she deserved that much. He turned, walking back in the direction of the castle. 

  Sansa was sitting in an old wooden chair by the fireplace in her bedroom. The flames burning on the hearth cast an orange glow throughout the room, bathing her in their warmth and leaving her feeling slightly drowsy. She would have to go down to dinner soon, but for now she was content just to sit, lost in her thoughts as she gazed into the fire. There was a quiet knock on her door, and she stretched lazily and called,  
  "Come in." The door opened and Theon entered, closing it behind him. She smiled at him, blushing already, and motioned for him to sit in the chair next to her. He did so gratefully, leaning forward and holding his hands closer to the fire to warm them. They sat in silence, and he knew she was waiting for him to say something, he just wasn't sure where to begin. Finally, he sat back in the chair, resting his hands on his thighs, and turned his head to look at her,  
  "Sansa, I...well...I..." He sighed and closed his eyes, attempting to gather his thoughts. His eyes snapped open when he felt her fingers brush his, and he jerked his hand out of her reach. He couldn't let her touch him. If he did, he would never be able to do this. He felt so guilty when he saw the hurt expression on her beautiful face as she pulled her hand back, away from him.  
  "Theon?" She asked, her eyes searching his face, "What is it?"  
  "We can't do this." He said, his gaze roaming from the fire, to the floor, to his feet and finally settling on his hands, anywhere but her face as he continued, "Your father would never allow it. I'm not the man for you. You deserve more than what I could give you."  
  "I don't understand." She said, "When you kissed me, I've never felt anything like that before! It was amazing!" She couldn't make sense of it, how could it have felt so good for her, but not for him? He had seemed to enjoy it. She felt so confused. And then realization dawned on her, and she quickly stood out of the chair and walked towards the window, keeping her back to him so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. There was only one explanation. He hadn't enjoyed kissing her. She was unexperienced, and her kiss had been awful, and now he was trying to tell her he wasn't interested in a way that wouldn't hurt her feelings.  
  "Sansa, I'm sorry. I-" She heard him stand and begin walking towards her, and she held her hand out to stop him,  
  "Just go." She said, trying to keep her voice from breaking. Theon turned to go, not wanting to upset her more, and then he heard her sniffling and realized she was crying. He was close enough to touch her before he even realized what he was doing, and he laid his hand on her shoulder gently,  
  "Are you crying?" He asked, though he already knew the answer. He felt her stiffen, and he turned her to face him, "Sansa?"  
  "Dont, Theon." She said, refusing to meet his gaze, "I understand. You don't have to pretend. You can go. It's alright."  
  "What are you talking about?" He demanded, cupping her chin and tilting her head up so she was forced to look at him. He wanted to kick himself at the sight of her tears.  
  "Don't make me say it." She pleaded. He said nothing, only stared at her, waiting for an answer. "You didn't like it," she said quietly, "you didn't like kissing me. I understand, really, I'm not as experienced as what you're used to. It's ok. We can go back to the way things were before, just please, go. I need to be alone." He didn't say anything for a moment, and when she looked up at him again, he was smiling,  
  "Is that what you think, you stupid girl?" He asked. She shrugged, and he laughed. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, "Oh Sansa. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I've never enjoyed kissing anyone as much as I enjoyed kissing you. But...if we do this, the consequences-"  
  "Consequences be damned!" She exclaimed. She pressed her lips to his, and he was lost.


	3. Chapter 3

  Theons tongue slid through Sansas parted lips with no hesitation, one hand cupping the back of her head and the other resting on the small of her back, holding her firmly against him as he explored her mouth. His heart beat frantically as her hands fisted in his hair. Her scent was intoxicating, the sweet, floral smell of lavender mixed with the sharp, citrus smell of lemons. He broke the kiss abruptly, keeping his arms around her and moving them both towards the bed. She froze when the backs of her knees touched the mattress, her cheeks bright red. He seemed oblivious to her sudden embarrassment, nipping at her ear lobe and slowly working his way down her neck.  
  "Theon..." She said quietly. He didn't respond, his breath hot on her neck as he swirled his tongue over her rapid pulse. She gripped his shoulders, giving him a gentle shove. He pulled away, his breath coming in short pants, and his eyes met hers,  
  "Is something the matter?" He asked, looking concerned. She smiled at him, blushing furiously, but said nothing. He kissed the tip of her nose, and asked again, "What is it, Sansa?"  
  "I am a maid. I...I've never done this before. I've never done anything like this." Sansa was absolutely sure she had never felt so embarrassed in all her life, but Theon just  grinned, the sudden hunger in his eyes making her knees feel weak and her whole body tremble,  
  "It's alright," he said, kissing her lips softly, "I know. Do you want me to stop?" He asked.  
  "Oh no." She responded, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his head down to hers, "Don't you dare stop now." He chuckled darkly, his hands skimming the sides of her body and gripping her hips. His lips found hers, harder, more insistent than they had been before, his teeth biting her bottom lip as he held her tight against his body. And then, to his surprise, she laid back on the bed, pulling him down on top of her and spreading her thighs so he lay between them. He was rock hard, his cock straining against the laces of his breeches, and when he settled between her legs, his erection nestled against her core, he moaned into her mouth, unable to stop himself from rocking against her. She gasped, grabbing handfuls of his shirt and writhing underneath him.  
  "Theon, please." She whimpered in his ear, "Please, I need...I need..." She gave up, frustrated at the fact that she had no idea what it was she needed, and he kissed her forehead gently and whispered,  
  "Shh, darling. I know what you need." He kissed her lips once, hard, and then his hand cupped her breast, his thumb caressing her nipple through the fabric of her gown. She moaned softly and then shivered as his fingers trailed across her collar bone. He stroked the mark on her neck, his expression one of smug satisfaction, his voice low and rougher than she had ever heard it as he murmured, "I love seeing my mark on you." His words sent a thrill through her, heat pooling in the pit of her stomach,  
  "Oh Theon." She whimpered, grabbing his hand and moving it back to her breast. He kissed her fiercely, tugging at the the front of her dress until her breasts were freed. His lips left hers, making their way down to the valley between her breasts, and she groaned low in her throat as his lips clamped around one pert, pink nipple. She gripped the back of his head, holding him hard against her, the throbbing between her legs so intense it was almost painful. He released her nipple with a loud pop, and he rolled off of her, laying on his side next to her. His gaze met hers, his dark eyes burning with such desire that it took her breath away. She gasped when she felt his fingers touch her inner thigh underneath her gown. His hand continued moving upwards, closer and closer to where she ached for his touch, and when she felt his long index finger stroke her, just once, through her smalls, she moaned aloud, her hips bucking so hard that her entire rear lifted off the bed, and she knew she should feel ashamed, embarassed, but in that moment the only thing she could think was that she wanted, needed, more. He slid her smalls down her legs slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. She held her breath in anticipation, her whole body feeling as if it were on fire, all for Theon. And then he touched her again, his thumb circling her clit almost lazily, and she clutched at his shirt, trying to keep herself grounded against the onslaught of sensation threatening to sweep her away. His finger pressed against her entrance, and when he slid it inside of her she cried out so loudly she was certain everyone in Winterfell had heard. His mouth returned to her breast, his tongue laving her nipple as he skillfully worked his finger inside her, and she clung to him, peppering his face and neck with kisses as she ground herself against his hand wantonly. Nothing she had felt in all her life could compare to this, this feeling of being absolutely overwhelmed by him, his touch, his scent, his soft moans, muffled by her breast, as he rocked his erect member against her hip. When he sensed she was nearing her peak, he kissed her lips and then began murmuring sweet nothings in her ear, his hot breath on her neck only adding to her pleasure. Every muscle she had felt tense, like a spring wound too tight, and she was afraid if she didn't get some kind of relief soon she would go insane.  
  "Theon," she panted, "Theon, oh Gods..."  
  "That's it, darling." He whispered in her ear, "Come for me, Sansa." And so she did. Her nails raked at his back and her teeth bit at his shoulder as she attempted to muffle the high, keening cries tearing from her throat. He moaned, louder than she had heard him yet, when he felt her contracting around his finger, and when she buried her face in his chest, murmuring his name over and over as she rode out the waves of her very first orgasm, he spent himself in his breeches, clutching her against him hard and kissing her deeply.  
  They lay there for some time, tangled up in each other, and when she finally opened her eyes and looked at him, he was gazing at her, his eyes shining bright in the dimly lit room.  
  "Theon? Is something the matter?" She asked. He shook his head, smiling and kissing her forehead, and chuckled before he replied,  
   "No. That was...that was incredible." She blushed, very obviously pleased with his response, and he just laid there for a moment, saying nothing as he lovingly stroked her hair. And then there was a loud knock at her door,  
  "Sansa! Are you in there?" Robb yelled through the door. She sat bolt upright, her heart racing and her face suddenly stark white, and yelled back, her voice unsteady,  
  "Yes, Robb! I'm dressing!" Theon stroked her back, calming her enough that her voice was no longer shaky when she asked, "What is it?"  
  "Father sent me to fetch you down to dinner."  
  "Go without me! I have to finish dressing and then I'll come down!" She heard Robb sigh and then he said,  
  "Fine, but if you're late, it's on your head, not mine!" She waited until she heard his footsteps thumping down the hallway before she stood, clutching her hand to her chest, her shoulders shaking, and only when she turned to face him did he realize that she was laughing, the color slowly returning to her cheeks,  
  "Oh, Gods!" She laughed, "I've never been so scared in all my life! I think Robb might have killed you!" She reached out and grabbed his hand, pressing her lips to the palm of his hand and then pulling him to stand with her as he joined in her laughter. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her softly, and his expression was suddenly very serious when he asked,  
  "Do you regret it?" She shook her head instantly, beaming at him as she replied,  
  "No. Not even for an instant." He grinned ear to ear as he kissed the top of her head, giving her waist a little squeeze and then leading her towards the door,  
  "Come," he said, "We can't keep your Father waiting."


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry it's been so long since I've updated! Things have been so incredibly busy, we had a new baby, moved across country, blah, blah, blah. This fic is definitely not discontinued, will hopefully be updated again soon. I finally got settled and started writing and ended up falling in love with Stranger Things so I've been trying my hand at writing another story while also trying to work on this one. Bear with me! XOXO


	5. Chapter 5

Theon anxiously ran his fingers through his hair for what must have been the thousandth time since he had sat down with the Starks for the evening meal. It was torture to simply sit across the table from Sansa, the smell of her arousal still faint on his fingers, and casually enjoy a meal pretending he hadn’t had her panting and writhing underneath him less than an hour ago. They had known each other since they were children, yet he had never given her much thought over the years. Arya had spent most of her childhood trailing after Theon, Jon and Robb, always wanting to be included in everything they did so long as it didn’t involve anything that a young girl was supposed to be learning. Sansa on the other hand had spent much of her time in the background. She spent most of her days with the Septa and with her Mother, soaking up everything they would teach her like a sponge, striving to one day become an exemplary Lady of her own home just like her Mother. So while Theon found Arya as predictable as the back of his hand, Sansa had always been something of a mystery, quiet and seemingly cold. Within the past year, however, she had suddenly blossomed. Theon hadn’t been able to help but notice the changes in her, from the delicious curve of her hips to the swell of her breasts, the way her hair had darkened from an obnoxious orange comparable to the color of carrots to a deep eye-grabbing shade of copper. He had lusted after her quietly for many months now. After their encounter this afternoon however, he felt like he was seeing her for the first time. Had there ever been another woman as elegant, as graceful, as she? Everything she did, even things as simple as eating or the way she sat so straight-backed in her chair, was refined. She was positively regal. Such an incredible contrast to the fiery, passionate woman she had been when she was coming around his fingers upstairs. His breeches became uncomfortably tight at the reminder, bringing very vivid pictures to the forefront of his mind. As if sensing his thoughts, Sansa looked up at him from her seat on the other side of the table. Her cheeks flushed and she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from grinning with satisfaction when she realized he had been watching her. Theon cleared his throat and tore his gaze from her, turning his attention to the meal before him, blushing as well at the knowledge that he had been caught. The rest of the meal passed relatively uneventfully, and Theon was halfway through deciding whether he would follow her up to her room tonight to finish what they had started when Lord Stark cleared his throat and stood.  
“I’ve received a raven from the King.” He said, all of the tables occupants turning their attention to him as soon as he spoke, “The King and Queen are traveling to Winterfell. They shall arrive in less than a month’s time.” He looked right at Arya as he continued, “I will expect everyone to be on their best behavior while they are in Winterfell.” Arya scowled at her Father, looking about as fierce as a kitten, and Theon could tell the Lord was fighting back a smile.  
“The letter from the King also said that the princes and princess are traveling with he and the Queen. We have all heard the rumors about Prince Joffrey and his…” Lady Stark paused for a long moment, drumming the tabletop with her fingers as she searched for the right word, “erratic behavior. I expect that no one will rise to any challenge the Prince makes. He is a Prince after all, and the Lannisters do not have a history of being forgiving of any slight to their status. Any problems that arise should be brought directly to myself or your Father. You’ll not try to handle it yourselves.” She looked back to Ned, and he nodded his agreement with her words.  
“Best behavior!” Ned Stark reiterated, “What does that entail, Arya?” Arya sighed, resting her chin on the table top and staring sullenly back at her Father,  
“It means I’m to sit inside with stupid Sansa and the Septa and prick my fingers trying to do needlework until the King decides he’s had enough of the cold.” She muttered. Sansa glared at her sister, and in a laughable parody of all the elegance and grace Theon had been mooning over only moments before, she scrunched up her nose, stuck out her tongue and kicked her sister under the table. Arya cried out in protest, picking up a hunk of cheese off of her plate and preparing to throw it at her sister when Maester Luwin intervened from the other end of the dining table,  
“Arya,” he chided, “Your Mother does not sit idly every day working away at needlepoint. She runs Winterfell alongside your Father, and watches over you, your sister and all your brothers. She helps the kitchens organize meals. She does as much of the housework as the servants. I’ve seen her hunt with your brothers from time to time. One day you will be a Lady just like her. If you have any hope of being as competent as she, you will have to learn a great many things from your Mother, the Septa, and even your sister Sansa.”  
“I’ve already told you,” Arya insisted, “I’m not getting married. I don’t want to be a Lady!” the Maester opened his mouth to respond, but Lord Stark held his hand out to silence both he and Arya,  
“You know what I expect, Arya. I’ll not sit here and indulge your arguments.” Arya crossed her arms across her chest, pushing out her bottom lip in a pout, and then got up and stalked out of the Dining Hall without another word or a glance back at her Father. Ned pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and fore-finger, taking a deep breath in and expelling it slowly, “You may retire.” He told those still seated at the table before turning and exiting the Hall as well. Sansa stood, flashing a brief smile at Theon before stretching and feigning a yawn,  
“I’m tired.” She told her Mother, “I’m going to bed.” Her Mother nodded, smiling warmly and waving her away. Sansa cast one final glance at Theon over her shoulder before she turned the corner to head up the stairs. Judging from the heated look in her eyes when their gazes met, he knew he was meant to follow. He stood slowly, not wanting to seem excited, and nodded his goodnight to Lady Catelyn before he turned to go. He hadn’t even made it to the door of the Hall before Jon was at his side,  
“I must speak to you.” Jon said, his voice low in Theon’s ear. Theon eyed him speculatively and then nodded his assent. Jon half-dragged him out of the hall, stopping when they were out of ear-shot and then turning to face Theon head on. Jon crossed his arms over his chest and looked Theon square in the eyes, “What do you think you’re doing?” He demanded. Theon raised his eyebrows,  
“What are you talking about?” He asked, playing innocent most unconvincingly. Jon scoffed,  
“Don’t be stupid. I saw you two at dinner. You’re lucky I was the only one who noticed. What do you think you’re doing?” Theon sighed then shrugged,  
“I don’t know, exactly. We haven’t…that is to say…” Theon trailed off, frustrated and unable to look Jon in the eyes. Jon took his meaning regardless, frowning,  
“Lord Stark would skin you alive. His daughter with his ward? The exiled ward of the Iron Islands? Never.” Theon’s face fell. He was well aware of his status, had never doubted for a moment that no matter where things went between himself and Sansa he would never be deserving, but to hear it from someone else’s mouth made him feel suddenly deflated, lower than the dirt on his boot. Jon’s expression softened suddenly, “I’m a bastard. I’m a Snow, not a Stark and Lady Catelyn has never let me forget it. It’s who I am, and I’ve learned what my limits are. You must do the same. You’re like my brother, and I’d never have said a word if I loved you less. Heed my advice, don’t set yourself up for heartache.” Jon laid his hand on Theon’s shoulder, gently squeezed and then walked away. Theon only stood, staring at the stone wall as Jon’s words sunk in. He needed to think. He needed to think away from her. His cock seemed to be doing the thinking for him any time he was near Sansa. He huffed once and then stormed out the front doors and off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting back in the swing of things FINALLY!!!!!! Yay! Should be updating much quicker now!


End file.
